


the other side

by arizonaflowers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Gen, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arizonaflowers/pseuds/arizonaflowers
Summary: “To the Dark Lord - I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. - R.A.B.”---Thrust sixteen years into the future where everything has changed, Regulus Black wakes up alive.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	the other side

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! this is my first work and i hope you'll like it as much as i enjoyed creating it. there may be some regulus/harry in the future, but i'm not sure yet. please let me know what you think and i hope you enjoy :)

“To the Dark Lord - I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. - R.A.B.”

\----------

The cave was cold, desolate. Water was drip, dripping in the weary silence as his footsteps echoed off the walls. The cave could be almost felt, the dark unrest finding solace in his bones. There was a rickety boat a few feet in front of him, aged from disuse, and called to him. It laid there waiting for the next unfortunate soul's attempt to cross the black depths of the water, unaware of what lurked beneath.

He climbed into the boat and helped Kreacher in as well. The house elf was muttering to himself about the danger of this situation, but was helpless in keeping the other away. As the boat entered the water, they began to paddle and did not stop until they reached the small island. As they got out, Kreacher was noticeably trembling, remembering what had happened the previous time he had been here. They approached the basin that held the dark liquid, the poison, that would lead to his demise. The hollow weight in his chest had not laid off, instead worsening as each minute passed. 

“Please let Kreacher drink the potion, please. Kreacher cannot let Master do this to himself!” The house elf pled to no avail. 

“Kreacher, I order you to make me drink the potion until all of it is gone, no matter what I say or tell you after this moment. After that, I need you to take the locket, leave, and destroy it. Do not tell anyone what you saw here. Destroy it, understand?” He had to do this. It was the only way. 

Kreacher's shoulders sunk in acceptance. If this is what his master needed him to do, he would do it. He filled the goblet with the dark liquid, took a deep breath, and rose it to the other's lips. The man drank, and the despair began. The pain was relentless, and he was forced to relive his worst moments. He didn't remember the reality of the moment, only the pain.

“Let me out!” It had been hours, and he had stopped crying after the first. He began screaming, hoping that someone, anyone, would open the door. It was dark, and his legs were numb from his position. He had disobeyed, but this punishment was new. His arms were bruised and aching from banging on the closet door. The exertion finally claimed him, and he sunk down, crying and waiting for sleep to take him. No one was coming.

Memories ran through his vision like a movie reel, showing several snapshots of his life. 

He was in the Great Hall, awaiting his sorting. They called his name, and he sat in the chair, hat being placed on his head. The hat was on his head for only a few moments before it shouted its verdict. All he saw was a stone-cold hardness on his brother's face, a shutter over his usually welcoming eyes, and he knew things would never be the same.

The burning in his stomach had travelled throughout his entire body, unbearable pain rushing through his veins.

“What are you doing?” 

“I'm leaving,” Sirius replied. “I can't deal with them anymore.” Sirius began to shove clothes into his knapsack more aggressively than before. 

He was starting to panic. “But you can't,” he protested, “You're the heir.” 

“You think I care?” Sirius replied. 

“What about me?” he was grasping at anything now, anything to keep his brother from leaving. “Do you even have a place to go?”

“I know that you believe all their blood purist crap. You're no better than them.” He started. “I'm going to James'.” 

“But I'm your brother! You can't leave me here with them.”

Sirius looked up at him, sneering. The cut on his cheekbone was still bleeding, the hand print beginning to redden as more time went on. 

“You're no brother of mine.”

And then he was alone. 

Though the pain was excruciating, he was still aware of Kreacher who told him that this was the last cup. He was still refusing, begging Kreacher to stop while the other was apologizing profusely, unable to go against his master's orders. Reality became foggy as he fazed into his last memory.

Tonight was the night he was to be marked. He had just turned sixteen, and he knew what was expected of him since his older brother was not there to fulfill his duties as the Black heir. His mother and father were finally going to be proud of him. It would be worth it. 

He was apparated to one of the Death Eater's manors, where the Dark Lord was waiting for him. It was all a bit hazy after that, his mind refusing to remember his last moments of freedom. And then the burning in his left arm that seemed to take over his entire being, the mark branding into his skin and soul. 

It was finished. 

He was losing his sanity, and his body still tried to fight off the potion from taking over his decision-making, and more importantly his mind. He had ordered Kreacher to take the locket and leave him before beginning to take the potion and the faint pop of him leaving reminded him of that fact. 

He was so, so thirsty. Crawling towards the murky water that laid waiting for him, he began to scoop up handfuls of the water to drink. By his third or fourth swallow, what he saw shocked him. Pale lifeless hands grabbed at him, and he could see the soulless eyes of the dead beholders. They all pulled him into the water and in the next moment he was submerged in it. 

He was screaming as thousands of hands pulled him deeper into the depths. It felt never-ending. His lungs were out of oxygen, and he was hopelessly screaming under the water. He took several breaths in, desperate for air, but his lungs were quickly filling with water. He was drowning as he drifted in and out of unconsciousness. Until he finally gave in, accepting of his fate. 

He was dead. 

\----------

The Order was gathering in the dining room, discussing their next steps now that Voldemort was alive again. They were all debating whether the children should be able to listen in on the meetings, unaware of the extendable ears happily listening in outside the dining room door. One heavily debated question was if Harry and his friends should be included, since they had faced Voldemort on their own multiple times, more than many of the current adult Order members.

“They are just children, there's no reason to include them in this war!” Molly Weasley protested. 

“Harry himself has had more encounters with Voldemort than all of us combined, it makes no sense to keep him from information that will directly concern him and his safety!” Sirius countered.

“What do you know!” Molly yet again protested, “You just met the boy less than two years ago-”

“You know nothing about-”

Dumbledore, like the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, looked on in amusement at the argument that was quickly becoming more and more heated as they let on. Unsure of how to approach the two of them, they were all captured in an awkward silence as the two prattled on. 

The volume of the two concerned Order members began to rise at an alarming rate, when a sudden crash and thud came from upstairs. Everyone in the dining room was stunned into a tense silence. The wards on Grimmauld should have alerted them if anyone was to break into the quarters, but they still needed to take caution and make sure everything was okay in these times. 

The kids who were listening onto the meeting opened the dining room door and made wary eye contact with various members. The noise was not from them. Dumbledore told the children to stay behind as they climbed upstairs to investigate the sound. What they found was unexpected, to say the least. 

A boy with dark hair was on the floor, faced down. He was covered in various amounts of algae and bleeding gashes where his clothes had been torn. He was covered in water, a dark puddle forming around him as he laid there. Suddenly his form turned to the side, and he was coughing and retching up murky liquid. He tried to get himself up on his knees, but failed. He tried once more and was able to get into a sitting position. He had not raised his head yet, and seemed to be stunned at his trembling hands. 

Alastor Moody, unlike the rest of the people who surrounded the boy, was not going to fall for this ruse. An intruder was an intruder, after all, no matter how beaten down they may look. He pointed his wand at the intruder's chest.

“Who are you and how did you get into this house?” he demanded. 

The boy did not answer, seemingly unaware of the question his presence posed or the absurdity of his situation.

“I won't ask again,” Moody continued, “Who are you and how did you get in here?”

The boy looked up and some audibly gasped. He had steel-grey eyes and his aristocratic features were largely reminiscent of a familiar face. He fixed his eyes on the wand threatening him and opened his mouth, but closed it again. He let out a small sigh and tried again, accepting that he had no other choice but to give in.

“My name is Regulus Arcturus Black.”


End file.
